


in orbit

by aerixlee



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Gender-Neutral Pronouns for Pidge | Katie Holt, Grief/Mourning, Haircuts, Keith & Pidge | Katie Holt Friendship, Keith (Voltron)-centric, Late Night Conversations, Pidge | Katie Holt-centric, and I am here to deliver, hair as a metaphor for a whole bunch of shit, keith just wanted a shower, sort of??, the world needs more gen voltron fics, they both need sleep, they talk about shiro and matt and sam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-23
Updated: 2021-02-23
Packaged: 2021-03-14 01:36:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29660463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aerixlee/pseuds/aerixlee
Summary: “You’re clearly not fine,” says Keith bluntly. He folds his arms across his chest, looking at Pidge head-on. “Come on. I’m shit at this stuff, so you’re just going to have to tell me. I’m not leaving until you do.”Pidge gives him a weird look, anger evaporating in favor of vague bewilderment. “Most people don’t comfort others like this,” they say, raising an eyebrow. “Is this seriously your idea of helping?”_____Or, Keith cuts Pidge's hair.
Relationships: Keith & Pidge | Katie Holt
Comments: 9
Kudos: 56





	in orbit

**Author's Note:**

> oh, would you look at that. another voltron fanfic. because i have no self control. and now i'm writing fics for a fandom that has been dead for years.
> 
> this was just an excuse for me to write two of my favorite characters interacting. apparently, i'm also incapable of writing things without angst or some level of hurt/comfort in them.
> 
> takes place in that wonderful period of piece in s1-s2 in which everyone is still in their original lions, shiro has less trauma, and things are kind of okay. though i guess it can be read at any point prior to the reunion between matt and pidge.
> 
> this is quite a bit different from what i usually write (as in it isn't introspection lmao), but i hope you enjoy <3

Keith spends far too long in the training room. It takes much longer than usual to work himself to the point of exhaustion, near collapse, that he usually gets to in order to force his body to sleep, and by the time that he’s done, he’s sure that it’s closer to the morning cycle than it is the night.

He’s going to shower, and then he’s going to sleep for however many vargas he can afford to. And he’s never going to stay up this late again.

(That’s a lie, and he knows it, but it’s nice to think, at least.)

He trudges off to the showers, regretting everything, scrubbing a hand over his face as he pushes the door open to the bathroom. And he freezes when he finds the lights are on.

Pidge stands in front of the sink, hair still wet and dripping from a shower, practically drowning in silk Altean pajamas. They’re staring into the mirror, hands clenched so tightly around the edge of the sink that Keith is surprised they haven’t broken something. Even from here, Keith can tell that their arms are shaking slightly, trembling, the cut of their jaw emphasized from how hard they’re gritting their teeth. Tension is weaved in every part of their body, held stiffly in their shoulders and tangled in their legs.

But their expression.

Keith can only see Pidge’s profile from where he stands, and he’s never been great at reading people, but he’d be a fool to not see the grief, the resignation, the anger lining their features. They look _shattered,_ almost wrecked, like they’re simultaneously on the verge of tears and screaming.

It looks like it’s directed at themself, too.

They also look like they’re about to commit a few homicides. Considering that there are only six other people in the Castle, Keith isn’t entirely comfortable with that.

“Uh,” says Keith, and Pidge whirls around, eyes wide. Their expression relaxes when they lock eyes with Keith, shoulders visibly slouching.

“Hey,” they mumble, turning back to the mirror. “I’m basically done here. Don’t let me hold you up.”

Keith, on any other day, wouldn’t think twice about the offer. But it’s late, really late, and because he trains at such obscenely late hours of the night to work himself to exhaustion, almost no one is ever in the showers at the same time that he is. He would’ve seen Pidge go in or out of the training room, and considering that he’s usually the only one in there during his spare time, this is unusual.

Keith really wants a shower, but he’s not about to just walk away from this.

“Is something up?” Keith asks, watching Pidge’s expression carefully in the mirror. He’s never been one for beating around the bush, nor has he ever been good at delicacy, so his tone is definitely just a bit too abrupt for what feels like an emotionally charged moment. Pidge tightens their lips, hands clenching a little more firmly around the edge of the sink.

“Fine,” they say tersely.

“Are you--”

“Look,” Pidge snaps, turning away from the mirror. They look almost bare without their glasses, features somehow younger and sharper at the same time. Their eyes aren’t quite so big. “Keith, I appreciate it, but if I was going to go to anyone for comfort, you’re definitely the last person I would seek out. I’m fine, so leave it alone.”

Keith is pretty sure that he’s supposed to feel hurt, taken aback, by Pidge’s harshness. The sharp slice of their tensed jaw says just as much. But the anger is familiar, too familiar, and he recognizes just a little bit too much of himself in it.

In any other circumstance, he would snap right back at them and walk away. But because he’s looking for it, he sees the regret flash in Pidge’s eyes, the self-disgust mixed with resignation.

And that’s enough.

“You’re clearly not fine,” says Keith bluntly. He folds his arms across his chest, looking at Pidge head-on. “Come on. I’m shit at this stuff, so you’re just going to have to tell me. I’m not leaving until you do.”

Pidge gives him a weird look, anger evaporating in favor of vague bewilderment. “Most people don’t comfort others like this,” they say, raising an eyebrow. “Is this seriously your idea of helping?”

“I don’t have much of a reference point,” Keith says, shrugging. “Just punch me if I say something wrong. Tell me what’s up.”

Pidge looks like they’re torn between laughing and taking him up on his offer, but it’s better than that painfully familiar, razor-sharp, self-destructive anger Keith had seen moments earlier, so he’ll take it.

“Shower first,” Pidge mutters at last, looking away. They wrap their arms around themself. “I need some time to myself before I talk.”

“Okay,” Keith says. “You’d better not run.”’

Pidge rolls their eyes. “Yes, _dad,”_ they say, and it’s with so much venom that Keith can’t help the small smile that quirks on the corners of his lips.

Keith walks over to the shower cubicle furthest from view, making sure that he’s mostly out of sight before tugging off his clothes and shoving them aside. He turns on the shower, not even flinching as a blast of cold water smacks his bare skin.

“Damn,” he hears Pidge say, and he turns around. They’re sitting on the ground, leaning against the wall with their legs splayed out in front of them. “You don’t even wait for it to warm up? Isn’t that cold?”

“A bit,” says Keith, shrugging. He’s a bit self-conscious with them watching him, but the cubicle walls cover everything but the top of his shoulders and his head, so he’s not particularly put off. He ducks his head under the water, closing his eyes against the stream that runs down his face, and feels the tension slowly drain out of his body. He runs a hand through his hair to get it out of his face and glances at Pidge. “Thought you said you wanted time to yourself first.”

“Oh, shut up,” grumbles Pidge. “It’s weird to just sit here while you shower.”

“And talking to me while I’m showering is better?”

There’s a clattering sound, and Keith looks over in time to see what looks like a tube of toothpaste hit the outside of the cubicle wall. Pidge narrows their eyes at Keith.

“Out of spite, I’ve decided that I’m going to talk now,” they say, “and you’re going to listen.”

Keith pumps shampoo into his hand. “Go for it.”

For a moment, there’s nothing but the sound of the shower running. Then Pidge huffs a sigh, and there’s a thud like they’ve let their head fall back against the wall.

“I’ve stopped seeing Matt every time I look in the mirror and I’m scared that I’m going to forget him because I can’t see him like that anymore because my reflection was the only thing that kept me from forgetting what he looked like and now I don’t know if I’m going to remember him and I know that it’s stupid but now I’m really scared I won’t recognize him if I see him.”

It comes out all in one breath, words tripping over each other in the haste to get them out. Pidge is visibly trembling when they’ve finished, hands clenched tightly on top of their thighs.

There’s a silence.

"It's also just easier to do things with short hair," Pidge mutters, almost an afterthought, but it's said with too much self-consciousness to be a mere addition.

“Oh,” says Keith, having literally no idea what else there is to say. Pidge fidgets with the edge of their shirt.

“I don’t--” Pidge huffs again, burying their head into their hands. “I don’t know. It’s stupid. I used to hate looking in mirrors after I cut my hair because I kept seeing Matt, and it was just too _raw_ at the Garrison, but now I hate looking in mirrors because I’ve stopped seeing him. My hair is so _long_ now, and I’m-- I don’t know.”

“You miss him,” says Keith, and Pidge nods into their hands.

“It makes me sad when I see my reflection,” they say, voice muffled, “but it’s also a reminder. To keep looking. He’s not dead, he can’t be, but I looked into the mirror just now and I couldn’t see him, and it's so _stupid,_ but it almost felt like I lost him all over again, which _so fucking_ _stupid--"_

“It’s not stupid,” Keith interrupts. “I could cut your hair for you if you wanted.”

There’s a pause. Pidge lifts their head slowly.

“Really?” they ask.

“Only if you want,” says Keith, lifting a shoulder into a half-hearted shrug. He rinses the soap off of his body, closing his eyes as he ducks his head beneath the stream of water again. “I’d be up for doing it, though.”

“Do you even know how to cut hair?”

And _that_ is stupid enough that Keith opens his eyes just to glare at Pidge. “Who do you think has been cutting Shiro’s hair this entire time?” he asks, genuinely offended. “Do you really think Shiro would be able to give himself an undercut?”

Pidge bursts out into laughter. Keith scowls.

 _“Yes,_ I can cut hair,” he says contemptuously. He shuts off the water. “Turn around so I can get out.”

Pidge complies, and Keith dries himself off, pulling on a fresh set of day clothes. He walks over to where Pidge is sitting and starts rummaging through the cabinets, searching for a pair of scissors.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you wearing pajamas,” says Pidge. Their eyes are open once more as they watch Keith search the storage areas. “Do you even sleep?”

“Do you?” asks Keith, and Pidge snorts. Keith pulls out something resembling scissors, close enough that he’s sure they’ll serve the same purpose, and points them at Pidge. “You want me to?”

Pidge hesitates for just a moment before a smile begins to spread across their face. “Sure,” they say, eyes glimmering with a familiar determination. And Keith smiles back.

Pidge perches up on a stool in front of the mirror while Keith examines their hair. They don’t have any clips here, so he’s just going to have to wing it.

“You’ll have to shower afterwards to get all of the hair off,” says Keith, making the first cut. The sounds of strands slicing breaks the silence better than his voice does.

“Eh,” says Pidge. “Not a problem. You probably should’ve waited to shower, in that case.”

Keith’s lips quirk slightly. “Maybe,” he says.

Strands of golden brown flutter to the ground. Pidge closes their eyes as Keith moves to their face, gently taking chunks of hair into his hands and snipping away. There’s something oddly peaceful, intimate, about the moment, filled with this comfort that he isn’t used to feeling very often. It’s what he feels when he’s around Shiro, like he can’t screw anything up, and it’s such a rare feeling that he can’t help but feel like he’s stumbled across it.

There was a time, once, in the desert, when he got lost. He’d found himself at the edge of a cliff, overlooking a vast canyon, the sun a blinding gold, casting the land in vibrant orange light as the sky softened into gentle blues and pinks. He was lost, thirsty, tired, and sweating through his clothes, but he’d stopped to watch the sunset. Just for a few minutes.

That’s what this feels like. Definitely without the potentially near death experience, but the level of stunned comfort is there.

“I miss him,” says Pidge abruptly. Their eyes are still closed, features still mostly relaxed, but there’s a slight tightness to their lips. “Matt, I mean. And Dad. It’s been years. And I’m-- I’m worried about Mom, too, because she probably thinks that all three of us are dead now.”

Keith thinks that Pidge is waiting for him to say something. He’s not quite sure what.

He wonders if she’s talked about this with Lance and Hunk. The three of them have families waiting for them back on Earth, they all know this, but they’ve never brought it up with him before.

He also wonders, briefly, if they think that he has family waiting for him. He dismisses the thought immediately. They saw the desert shack, after all, but Pidge is still waiting.

So Keith speaks anyway.

“When Shiro was… gone,” Keith says slowly, being careful as he continues to cut Pidge’s hair, “I fell apart. I didn’t want to believe it. I _didn’t_ believe it. I spent a year in that desert, all alone, convinced that the Garrison was lying. Nothing but the sight of Shiro’s body would’ve convinced me of his death.”

He pauses. “Your mom isn’t going to lie down and take it if she’s anything like you,” he says quietly.

There’s a silence. Keith pauses, hands stilling, suddenly worried if he’s fucked up. His eyes land on Pidge’s reflection, their lip trembling and eyes welling up with tears.

His heart drops into his stomach.

Oh.

_Oh._

“Oh,” he whispers. “Shit.”

“No, these aren’t--” Pidge sniffs, wiping their eyes. “I’m not sad. I’m _not._ That was actually helpful. I’d been thinking something along those lines for the past few days, but it’s-- it’s different hearing it from someone else. I’m feeling it now, too, with Matt and Dad. I’ve _been_ feeling it since Kerberos, and I know you’re right, but I just-- I haven’t cried in a few days. And not all of us can bottle everything up like you. So.”

“Oh,” Keith says again, more confused this time, and Pidge laughs a little, sniffing again as they shove him lightly.

“I’m not a crybaby,” Pidge insists. They drag the sleeve of their pajama shirt over their face, the cloth coming away damp. “Keep cutting my hair. You’re doing great.”

“Oh,” Keith repeats. He stares at his hands for a moment, then looks from Pidge’s reflection to their hair, and starts cutting again.

The silence is less quiet, this time, broken by Pidge’s occasional sniffs. But it’s still warm and encompassing, and Keith thinks that this is probably what it feels like to have a younger sibling.

An almost overwhelming surge of protectiveness overtakes him. Keith pauses for a moment, turning the feeling over in his head a few times.

He’s not used to this. Shiro is older than him, definitely doesn’t need his protection, probably feels this way about Keith more than the other way around, and Keith isn’t quite close enough with everyone else to know about them. But Pidge is the youngest, the smallest, the brightest of all of them, and they maybe remind Keith a little bit of himself. A bit too much, sometimes.

So, yeah. Sue him. He wants to protect Pidge. They would bite his head off if they knew that, so it’s not like he’s going to voice it out loud.

“I can cut your hair after this, if you want,” says Pidge. “It’s getting kind of long. I think Lance might have a stroke if you grow it out any longer.”

Keith grins. “I’ll keep growing it, then,” he says, and Pidge snorts. “I can cut it myself, though. It’s not a big deal.”

“It’s probably easier to have someone else do it,” says Pidge.

“It’s fine. I don’t want to bother you.”

“I’m offering, aren’t I?”

Keith glances up at Pidge, meeting their eyes in the reflection of the mirror. They cock their head at him, raising their eyebrows.

“Think about it,” they say. “This is fun, right?”

“Yeah,” says Keith, and he really means it. “It is.”

“Okay. So let me cut your hair next time you need a haircut.”

Keith shifts slightly on his feet. Another scattering of honey-brown strands flutters to the ground. “I’ve always done it myself,” he admits. “I don’t think anyone has done it for me before, ever.”

Pidge straightens up so quickly that Keith almost stabs them right in the neck. He yelps, pulling away immediately, but Pidge doesn’t even flinch.

“Don’t _do_ that,” Keith snaps, flicking the back of Pidge’s head. “Do you want to die?”

“I’m not asking anymore,” says Pidge, ignoring him completely. “You’re going to come to me when you want a haircut. If I find out that you’ve cut it yourself again, I’m locking you out of the training room for a movement.”

Keith feels his eyes narrowing as his gaze clashes with Pidge’s in the mirror again. “You can’t do that.”

Pidge narrows their eyes right back at him. “Oh, you _bet_ I fucking can.”

Keith rolls his eyes, cutting another chunk of hair. “Gremlin.”

“Edgelord.”

They fall into another silence. Pidge’s eyes close once more as Keith moves back to the front, scowling in concentration as he snips away at the bangs. He pulls back at last, features relaxing a little as he takes in the sight, and nods.

“Alright,” he says. “You’re good.”

Pidge opens their eyes, staring right at their reflection in the mirror. They blink a few times.

“Is that good?” asks Keith, a little uncertainly. Shiro has never cared about how Keith cuts his hair, but Pidge was fairly specific about their motivations for this.

Pidge stares at their reflection. Just looking. Taking it in.

Keith waits for what feels like an eternity.

Pidge launches themself out of their seat to throw their arms around Keith. The force of the hug sends him stumbling back a few steps, but Pidge keeps clinging to him like he’s a lifeboat in the middle of the ocean.

“Thank you,” they say fervently. “Thank you thank you thank you thank you _thank you--”_

“Okay,” says Keith, gently prying Pidge’s arms off of him, thoroughly overwhelmed and feeling many emotions. “Uh. You’re welcome?”

“You’re great at comforting people,” Pidge says, practically bouncing on their heels. “I lied before. You’re great at it. I’m giving you that haircut for _sure,_ now, by the way.”

Their hair is bouncing with their movements. It’s kind of adorable. Keith would rather die than admit that out loud, but it’s true.

“You look good,” he says instead of committing actual and literal suicide by calling them _cute._ “Matt’s going to think he’s got a twin instead of a younger sibling when he sees you.”

Pidge stops bouncing. They’re still smiling, but it’s turning a bit melancholy.

“I miss him,” they say quietly. “He would’ve loved all of this, you know. Voltron, the Castle… I mean, seriously, it’s not every day that you run into a bunch of sentient robotic lions. He would’ve gone _crazy_ over this.”

“He will,” says Keith, pulling as much steeled certainty as he can into his tone. He thinks it works, because Pidge looks up at him with a bit of surprise. “He’ll see all of this, Pidge. We’ll find him.”

Pidge blinks a few times, looking away. Their lips are pressed into a thin, tight line.

“What if…” They break off. “What if we don’t? What if he’s--”

_Dead._

“Hey,” says Keith, and he means for it to be gentle, but it comes out all sharp and cutting like the rest of him. He’s starting to think that that might not be such a bad thing. “I got Shiro back, didn’t I?”

Pidge swallows. They nod, still not looking at him.

“Yeah,” they say. “Yeah, you did.”

“So you’ll find your family.”

“I will,” Pidge says, this time with a renewed determination. “Yeah. I will. I will.”

“Yeah.”

Pidge grins at Keith. Keith can’t stop himself from returning it.

“Let me know when you need a haircut,” Pidge says, pointing finger guns at him. “Come find me at another ungodly hour like this when you do. I’m sure I’ll be up.”

They bound towards the door, then pause just as they’re starting to set foot outside of the bathroom. They turn around.

“Keith?” Pidge says. They open their mouth, close it, and then open it again. “Thanks.”

Keith smiles. “Anytime.”

Keith watches as they leave the bathroom, leaving a trail of stray strands of hair in their wake. His eyes flick to his reflection in the mirror, and he makes eye contact with himself, taking in the sight of the dark bruises beneath his eyes and the exhaustion lining his features, dark hair dripping water onto the shoulders of his shirt.

He looks like he’s about to pass out on the spot.

Yeah. He’s going to bed. Someone else will probably clean up.

Probably.

(He takes the not-quite scissors, though. Just in case.)

**Author's Note:**

> leave a comment if you enjoyed and lmk what you thought! <3
> 
> [tumblr](https://aerixlee.tumblr.com/)


End file.
